


Unravel

by imiriad



Category: End Roll (Video Game)
Genre: Gen, Guilt, Trauma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-09-22
Updated: 2016-09-22
Packaged: 2018-08-16 15:57:35
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,603
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8108524
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/imiriad/pseuds/imiriad
Summary: "...Does your heart ache...?"It was just a bloody knife. It shouldn't have bothered Russell to hold onto. But it did.





	

_I don’t want to go back._

It was a strange thought for Russell to have. Ever since he’d begun this dream, all sorts of strange thoughts and feelings were surfacing inside him. The fog of apathy was slowly lifting off of him as each day passed, forcing him to confront what lay beyond it.

Russell didn’t like it.

He hadn’t thought much of it at the time—the warmth of Kantera’s shaking breath as Russell dragged a knife across his throat. Yet, after using that same bloodied knife to cut down one of the few treasured memories he’d kept locked away, Russell’s steps felt heavy.

There were eyes on him, staring from every which way. Haunting him. Shadows followed him and trees watched him; even the mailboxes were whispering, giggling, gossiping about him. His chest felt tight.

The bloody knife was more effective than any other weapon he’d found in this world. It was just an object. A useful object. But when he looked at it now, nausea stirred in his gut. Even though it would be better to keep for his own protection, Russell had stopped at the Incarners' Market on the way back to the town. It was such a relief to see it disappear that he almost forgot to take the five walnuts in exchange.

Russell couldn’t understand why. He wasn’t sure he wanted to.

The time had come for him to end another day of this so-called “Happy Dream.” A shiver climbed Russell’s spine as he stood in front of his room. That was normal. What wasn’t normal, was the way his palms started to sweat when he reached out for the doorknob. The way it rattled when he twisted it, because his hands were shaking.

He didn’t want to open the door. It was obvious what was waiting for him there. The previous night, it had been a box of matches resting in the middle of pitch black, waiting for the reenactment. Russell did it all over again—he’d had to. Had to light the fire, and listen to them die. This night would be more of the same. No matter what he’d done with the bloody knife in his possession… It would be waiting for him before he woke up.

Instead, Russell walked to the medicine shop.

Reassurance should have been behind those doors, but it was a sense of vertigo that struck him. The scenery _changed_. Suddenly, a different medicine shop lay before him, one Russell knew uncomfortably well.

Russell was familiar with which cabinets held the cups and which held the bowls, and where in the closet the extra linens were kept. He’d learned how to prepare the herbs they’d picked for drying, and what plants were best used when fresh.

And yes, he even knew that the doctor lay in his futon, feigning sleep until he was sure Russell had dozed off, and read a book until he could no longer keep his eyes open. He knew that the doctor would jolt awake an hour later, with a pained gasp and sometimes, quiet sobs Russell pretended not to hear.

“…Did you sleep alright last night, doctor? I hope I didn’t disturb you.” It was a cruel test, one Russell gave over and over.

And each time, the doctor would chuckle into his sleeve, and say, “Hohoh… Of course not, Russell. I slept perfectly well. Like a log, I daresay.”

The doctor had said he could confide in him no matter what.

_Liar._

When the day had come, there hadn’t been a moment of hesitation. Russell remembered the drawer to open by heart, knew exactly which knife was kept the sharpest, so that it would be quick and easy.

“Russell?”

In an instant, the room shifted before his eyes. Russell was back to the dream, not the memory.

Kantera, winged and horned, stood in front of him. He wore a concerned expression, one hand lightly touching Russell’s shoulder. His gaze shifted downward and his mouth stretched into a near-grimace. “Are you still holding onto that dreadful thing? I wish that you would have disposed of it by now…”

Russell felt it before he could see it.

His hand, clutching something tightly. He looked down at it.

(One knife.)

It rang in his head.

(One of him, one of you.)

His heart pounded.

(Plenty of the red that stained the knife.)

Russell couldn’t breathe.

(But surely… A little more couldn’t hurt.)

He flung the knife at the ground as though it had burned him. Turning on his heel, Russell rushed toward the door, desperate to escape the parade of warped memories and rising emotion.

“Russell!” Kantera shouted his name and caught Russell’s arm before he could get away. Pulled him back further, closer, and trapped him there in the moment. As much as Russell wanted to push Kantera away, to tell him to let him go, no words would come out of his throat. His head was swimming, and he couldn’t breathe.

Before he could react, Kantera’s hand covered his mouth and nose. Russell went still.

So this was how it would end. Russell had killed him, and so Kantera demanded justice in this dream, demanded his death, the same as the rest of them. Smiling at him and treating him kindly, softening him up, and then staring at him with their cold, dead faces, asking him why, wanting retribution.

But Kantera wasn’t pressing tightly enough to suffocate him. It was more like… he was gently cupping his face. To Russell’s surprise, the burning pain in his lungs started to subside. “Calm down,” Kantera spoke into his ear, voice firm. “You are fine. Simply breathe. In, and out.”

Russell’s heartbeat slowly returned to normal. He could breathe again. So Kantera hadn’t been trying to smother him. Russell didn’t know if that made him feel better or worse.

Kantera gingerly removed his hand, releasing Russell’s arm as well. “I apologize if my actions frightened you, Russell. You were hyperventilating. ‘Twas all I could think to do on the spot.” Then, as though handling something very delicate, Kantera spun Russell around to face him and leaned over. Russell avoided his eyes. “'Tis been a long day, has it not?” Kantera’s voice was soft. “I would not have taken you along today, had I realized you were unwell…”

Russell shook his head. “It’s fine.”

“Russell,” Kantera said, with a lightly chiding tone.

“…How hypocritical,” Russell muttered under his breath. “Even though you kept so many secrets from me, doctor.”

Again, he remembered why he’d done it.

Not simply because he’d asked. Not solely to give him peace. But because the doctor had used him, had lied to him, had made Russell doubt every kind word he’d accepted from him. The doctor had betrayed him, and Russell hated how weak and worthless it made him feel. The same way he’d hated Tabasa’s indiscriminate kindness, the church’s idea of forgiveness, and Gardenia’s loving father.

The chanchanko the doctor had lent him the night before had been stained with blood. Ruined, same as all of the precious moments that had spanned between them.

Russell tied it into a bundle filled with rocks, and threw it as far as he could into the river he crossed on the way home.

Kantera’s brow furrowed as he regarded Russell, clearly perplexed by his moodiness. Russell didn’t get it either. “Perhaps…” Kantera ventured, “I have done something to upset you?”

Russell turned his head away. He hesitated for a moment, then, nodded sharply.

“That’s awfully troubling.” Kantera drew back and put a finger to his chin, deep in thought. He sounded unsure and quiet, like he really would be bothered if Russell rejected him. “Is there anything I can do to regain your favor? I would be very saddened if you didn't forgive me, or held a grudge.”

Russell met Kantera’s eyes. They were red. The golden ornaments in his hair sat at the base of two curled horns. He wasn’t _really_ the doctor, Russell knew. No matter how similar their personalities or quirks… this Kantera would never ask Russell to kill him.

That tightness in his chest was starting up again. Russell took a half-step forward, as close as he could get, while still maintaining a distance.

“…Comfort me,” he mumbled.

He didn’t know what to expect. Maybe a bit of surprise, Kantera’s trademark chuckle, and a cup of medicinal tea designed to relax. Certainly not what came: Kantera’s arms wrapping around him, drawing him into a warm embrace, the heavy smell of herbs and incense on his kimono.

“Are you afraid of something, Russell?” Kantera asked, rocking lightly on his heels.

“Yes,” Russell said, out loud, finally. He was being chased by monsters with no basis in reality. He dreaded returning to his room to watch the scenes from his past play out in front of him. And when he woke up in the real world, Russell wasn’t sure he would want to sleep, or dream again.

_Is… this the way you felt, too, doctor?_

Russell knew it was pointless to try asking the question. No matter what he said, there would be no meaning in his answer.

So instead, Russell buried his face into Kantera's shoulder and let him stroke his hair gently. He listened to Kantera soothe him, and deeply inhaled the too-familiar scent of his clothes.

“There is nothing to be afraid of here,” Kantera told him, his voice a low melody. “I am here, and you are with me. I will not let any harm come to you, Russell.”

 _Liar,_ Russell thought sadly.

Those words hurt more than anything else.


End file.
